The Fellowship of the Urn
by Drew Marigold
Summary: Through the biggest plot hole imaginable, the entire Fellowship find themselves on the road... in a pea-green hippie van?! When they stop to ask for directions in the most remote little town, they meet up with two...unusual and...unorthodox characters.
1. Welcome to Sticksville Population: YOU

Written by: Drew and Al's Waiter

Summary: Through the biggest plot hole imaginable, the entire Fellowship find themselves on the road... in a pea-green hippie van?! When they stop to ask for directions in the most remote little town, they meet up with two... unusual and... unorthodox characters. Spoilers for those who have not read the books, like when Frodo... *twack* "Don't _tell _ them!" ... oh... sorry. Warning: This story is a... not a self-"insert" per se, more like self-"sucked in". Rejoice, no Legolas romance!

Disclaimer: AW and I are truly sorry. We were attacked by merciless Nuzguls and were forced to write this tag-along story. Fortunately for you, this is not a 10th, or even an 11th member fic... at least, not the way you'd imagine it. We're not that void of intelligence. All of the Lord of the Rings characters belong to dear ol' Tollers and no one else. Drew and AW belong to themselves and like it that way. Al's Wait and Eat, Al and Al's Waiter are based on the show *ReBoot*, but we warped them significantly, so they are likely no longer property of Mainframe Entertainment. Sticksville is a fictional place and always will be. Enjoy the random time travel, the plot holes, the RV's and the ... moronic escapades.

~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 1: Welcome to Sticksville... Population: YOU

"Picture it: Sicily, the year was 1946...."

"That's not right."

"Ok...try: my backyard party, three years ago..."

"No, that's still not right... It was last summer, and it wasn't anywhere near the backyard... not till much later."

"Oh, fine. You and your obsession with details. I still like my introduction better. It had more character."

"Character, yes. Plagiarism, yes. Facts, flair, flavour...NO!"

"Kill joy."

"Who's telling this story? Me, or you?"

"You can tell it, so we get the 'facts' straight, and I'll make sure it's fun." *turns head... notices readers* "Pssst... they're here."

"Oh, hi! We should probably introduce ourselves... I'm Drew."

"And I'm AW... (the fun one)"

Drew: "And we're here to... Hey! I'm fun."

AW: "No, you're a teacher."

Drew: "I'm still fun. I make my daughter laugh."

AW: "She's 12 months old, and she'll laugh at toast."

Drew: "I'm still fun. You have to be fun to MST. I MST. Therefore, I. Am. Fun. Anyways... as I was saying... *glares at AW* We are here to tell you a story..."

AW: "A story that happened to a friend of a friend of mine..."

Drew: "Stop it! It did not, and you're going to get us into trouble with a lot of high-priced, fancy-talking lawyers if you're not careful!" 

AW: "Okay, fine. I see what you're doing... kinda like Freakazo- *glances at Drew* Can't say it or I'll be *makes air quotes* sued. But, I'm reading ahead, and this is good stuff... good stuff.."

Drew: *wearyingly* "AW. You're doing it again."

AW: *sulks* "Fine. You start it."

Drew: "Alright... Um..." *looks sheepishly at Al* "How did it start?"

AW: "You were temping at the Rent-it-all dealership... *turns to audiance* *cheesie voice over guy* "Where our motto is: You can rent it all, but only one at a time!" *big toothpaste commercial grin* "And Al's Wait 'n' Eat Diner was closed for lunch, so I was over keeping you company." *to audience* "Al's Wait 'n' Eat... I'm a Waiter... Hence, *air quotes* Al's Waiter!"

*laugh track* 

Both: *look around for laughing people*

Drew: "Riiiiight... 

*flashback waves*

AW: *voice over* Ohh.. I hate those effects... I think I'm going to hurl.

Drew: *voice over* Have my BSB (1). We don't have time for you to leave, now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The pea-soup green Hippie van lurched forward, stopped, lurched forward, stopped, lurched forward, and shuddered to a halt. The engine sputtered, wheezed, coughed, spewed black smoke... and died. Eight of the strangest people (and I use the term loosely) pushed each other out of the rusty doors and took a collective gasp of air. After stretching out the various kinks acquired from being crammed into that sardine can for who knows how long, they staggered towards the Diner. Upon discovering it was closed for the noon hour, a plethora of colourful vocabulary rose up from the group. A short bearded man in a metal hat stomped back to the van, popped the hood, started muttering and using an... axe? ... to wave away the billowing smoke.

Just like every other lunch hour, AW sat on my table, I sat behind it, and we shared lunches. We snickered. Watching tourists 'not eat' at the Diner always struck us as funny. (The locals knew better than to go during meal times.) The blond one must have heard us, because his head snapped around, and he looked right at us. AW and I immediately put on our poker faces and waited as he strode over angrily to confront us. The rest of the group watched him walk across the parking lot. The short ones were the first to follow him, leaning on each other for support, moaning something about not having eaten since elevenses. The old man seemed inclined to wait under the Diner's awning, and the dark one chased after the blond, catching up before he had crossed half the lot.

"What do you think you are doing?" the dark one thundered, waving his hands in the air, "Striiiiiding over here. You think anyone can striiiide? It takes years to perfect. You are making a mockery of striding."

"Look," replied the blond, not pausing, and using the tone my aunt uses with the mental patients, "just because you got us lost in Western Québec, where none of us could communicate with anyone, does not give you the right to take your bad mood out on me. I am not the navigator. You wouldn't even allow a map in the van, Mr. 'I'm a Ranger... I need no map.' So, if you don't mind, I will acquire directions from those... folk over there."

We watched them approach as we fought a losing battle to maintain our poker faces. We couldn't help ourselves; the whole scene was just too absurd for words. The two tall tourists stopped in front of the table. The dark one was fuming, and the blond was ignoring him beautifully.

"Pardon me for interrupting," the blond started, even though he wasn't interrupting anything, and he knew it, "Where are we? And would you be so kind as to explain why this eating establishment is closed at the noon hour?"

At this point, AW was slurping his shake industriously, desperate to hide the smirk on his face. Since he couldn't be polite and civilized, I was left the job of explaining the idiocy of the Diner.

"Well, Sirs," I said as respectfully as I could manage, "you are in Sticksville, just outside the Canadian capital of Ottawa. And as for the Diner, it is a very unorthodox situation: the owner, Al, likes to enjoy his meals in uninterrupted peace... so, he closes his doors while he eats, and opens when he has finished. Knowing how slowly he moves, it should be open within the hour... and no later than 2 o'clock." I beamed at them., pleased with myself for having finished this speech without being hampered by a nasty case of the giggles. And AW, still working on his drink, wasn't helping to alleviate the hilarity. 

They stood there motionless, staring at us, as they worked to digest that information. As we waited for a reaction, four short ones finally made their way to the table. Suddenly, the dark one sprang to life and leaned over the table, coming up nose to nose with AW. AW looked up from the frantic slurping, paused, and in trying to internalise the laugh that bubbled up, he succeeded only in snorting blueberry energy shake out his nose. 

He jumped off the table, grabbed a serviette and ran off towards my car, chortling and exclaiming, "Ow! It burns, it burns!" 

Deprived of his focus, the dark one turned to me. "Two o'clock?" he bellowed, "That's nearly two hours from now."

Upon hearing this, the four newly arrived participants gasped and collapsed on the ground, whining, "Two hours?" "I'm not going to make it that long," and, "I wasn't this hungry on the way to Mordor!"

The blond one looked down on the heap of short people and shook his head. "You just ate an hour ago." He said, exasperated, "How can you still be hungry?"

One of them looked up, "But, Legolas, it was Chinese buffet. Everyone knows you get hungry half an hour after eating it. That was two half an hours ago."

Finding this entire exchange extremely amusing, I struggled to keep a straight face as the dark one continued to rant, "What kind of restaurant closes when people are hungry? How do you expect to make any money? What are we supposed to do? Why is that guy," he pointed to AW, "still running around yelling, 'it burns'? What is wrong with him? Why are you just sitting there?"

The blond, apparently named Legolas, placed a hand on his shoulder and said calmly, "Aragorn, leave the poor girl alone. Getting angry never solved anything. And besides," he added logically, "she works for a different establishment. Look at her shirt." 

Aragorn, so addressed, blinked and stopped shouting long enough for me to see what he looked like with his mouth closed.

Taking advantage of the sudden silence, I launched into my sales pitch schpiel, "Yes, thank you. Welcome to 'Rent-It-All,' where you can rent it all, but only one at a time. We have," and I proceeded to rattle off the contents of the shed and parking lot behind me, "a lawnmower, vacuum cleaner, iron, weed whacker, roto-rooter, VW beetle, roto-tiller, crock pot, lawn chair, speed boat, toaster, porta-potty, our John Deer ride-on mower is out right now, R. V...." I was starting to loose my audience, "...hub cap, portable air conditioner, crash test dummy, tanning be-"

"Oh no!" gasped one of the short people at my feet, "We forgot Boromir in the van!" With that, he grabbed a random hand from the pile and yanked the corresponding body out, and dragged him over to the now silent, still smoking, van. They clamoured inside and climbed over the seats to the back.

While we were waiting for them to reemerge, one of the remaining short ones asked, "Pardon me, Lady, but why was everything you mentioned in the singular form, if you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, that's easy," I replied cheerfully, "because we only have one of each of every item. That's why you can only rent one thing at a time."

He merely nodded reflectively as he gazed at the impedimenta available for rent. 

His companion pulled at his sleeve, "Look, Master Frodo. She also sells lemonade," he said, indicating a handpainted sign taped to the table. Pausing thoughtfully, he then asked worriedly, "Do you think she has more than one glass?"

"I don't know, Sam," Frodo replied, turning back to me, "Will we all be able to have a glass? Or will we need to share?"

I giggled. "The lemonade stand is my own venture. I have enough cups for all of you," I replied, "Would you like pre-made for 50 cents, or would you like to do-it-yourself, for 25 cents?"

Aragorn had listened to this conversation wordlessly, glancing from one speaker to the other with his mouth wide open. The 'do-it-yourself lemonade stand' seemed to force him to share another opinion-filled outburst. "This is the worst rental agency I have ever seen! And believe me, I've seen plenty," he roared, "A Diner that closes for meals, and a rental place with one of everything? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS TOWN?!?" 

"Look around you," AW said calmly approaching from behind, causing Aragorn to jump, "does this village look big enough to need two trampolines?" He walked between Legolas and Aragorn, and reclaimed his space on the table, still breathing gingerly and hiccuping occasionally.

This illogical logic stopped Aragorn in his tracks. While he was still working on a come-back, the two other short people practically fell from the van, completely dwarfed by the hulking figure draped over their shoulders. They stumbled under the weight of their burden, and someone managed to tramp on the fingers of the figure now threatening the underside of the van. The owner of the fingers let out a howl and scrambled out from under the vehicle. He advanced on the culprits wielding his axe, and they started to shuffle backwards to avoid being maimed.

"We're sorry, Gimli!" one of them cried, his voice muffled, "He's is a mite heavier than he looks, and with 'im starting to stiffen, it's getting hard to manoeuver."

'Gimli' merely growled in response, but he did hang his weapon from his belt and changed course to join the group already clustered around my table.

"The van has gone to the Halls of Mandos," he stated grimly upon arriving, "and only Iluvatar can bring it back to us." 

The rest of his companions groaned and all started talking at once. I, however, was more interested in what was happening behind the group. I pushed my chair back from the table, stood, and walked closer to the struggling trio so I could hear what they were saying.

"Ouch! Pip," said the one on the left, "that's my foot you're standing on."

"I'll move my fout, if yew take yer elbow out of my stomach, Meriadoc," retorted Pip, sarcastically.

The heap teetered precariously.

"Watch it. 'E's slippin'. If we're not careful, we'll drop 'im ...again," Pip sounded worried.

"Pippin! We can't drop him again,"Meriadoc exclaimed, horrified, "Remember how mad Aragorn was last time! Just listen, you can hear his 'angry nose whistle' from here. I don't want to face that. Do you?"

"I still dinna understand why 'e gets so upset, Merry" Pippin said, shifting the body, "Eet's not like 'e feels it, or anythin'."

"Well, I still feel sorry for him," Merry continued, "After all, we couldn't even get the arrows out of him. Poor fellow."

"Okay, let's get this right..." Pippin instructed, "left, righ- No no, my left!" 

They slowly inched towards the rest... like a pony in a strong headwind...

*record scratching sound* *picture freezes*

AW: *voice over* "Like a WHAT?"

Drew: *voice over* "Like a pony in a headwind? A trout moving upstream? Like Yogi bear trying to get a pic-a-nik basket?"

AW: *voice over* "Stop with the metaphors, Boo Boo. Just say they were having difficulties moving."

Drew:*voice over* "Fine. Moving on..." 

*picture starts moving, slowly at first, accelerating to normal speed* 

As the little ones struggled with their burden, I wandered back to my table. I had to walk in a wide semi-circle around Aragorn who was having kittens about the rent-all, the van, the lemonade, the Diner, our village, and his life in general. Legolas was leaning on the table, talking calmly to Gimli about their lack of transportation, and Sam and Frodo were still considering their lemonade dilemma: pre-made, or 'do-it-yourself.' AW was still sitting on the table, enjoying the entire scene before him. No one seemed to mind the kittens.

Sitting down on my side of the table, I turned to AW.

"Um, maybe you could try to convince Al to open early, just this once?" I suggested quietly.

"Are you kidding?" he protested, gesturing to the activity in front of us, "This is the best lunch ever! Free dinner theatre!"

"Look," I said, pointing, "That one over there is whistling through his nose. I don't think that's too healthy. Would you PLEASE see if you can find some food? A banana, a can of tuna, an expired jar of olives... anything to calm him down."

AW sighed heavily, and slid off the table. "All right," he said, extracting his keys from his pocket, "but tell me what I miss."

"Ok," I said as I started to take notes. Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Oh wait, better yet..." I jumped up and rummaged through the 'electronics' section of the rent-all, producing the video camera and the tape, "I'll tape it for you." I proceeded to set the camera (wide lens) up on the tripod and hit record.

"Super!" he exclaimed and took off running.

Merry and Pippin were making progress. They had managed to coordinate their feet and were slowly approaching the table when Pippin looked .

"Hey, look!" he shouted, overjoyed, "They've got lemonade!" 

And with that joyous proclamation, he dropped his half and sprinted the remainder of the way to the rest of us. Merry, suddenly in sole possession of a rather large cadaver, collapsed under the weight. 

"Pippin," he wheezed, "I can't breathe. Help!"

Gimli rolled his eyes, and lifted carcass off of him, allowing him to roll to freedom. Merry winced as air refilled his deflated lungs, and he and Gimli dragged the body the last few meters.

Aragorn stopped fuming out loud when AW reached the Diner. He watched as AW pushed his key in the hole and opened the door. The door slammed shut and Aragorn turned back to me.

"Does that mean his lunch break is over?" he asked hopefully.

"Hardly," I snorted, "he's only been on lunch for forty-five minutes so far. He's got at least another two hours to go."

The nose whistle jumped an entire octave. "Then why did he go back?" he demanded.

"Well, sir," I answered, edging away slowly, "my brother has gone to see if he could arrange for you and your companions to eat at the Diner sooner, rather than later."

This statement seem to calm him down. He thought for a moment, confusion written all over his face, then asked, "Did you say he's your brother?"

I nodded.

"But, but..." he stuttered, "he's... blue. I mean his skin," he added hastily, "Is there something wrong with him... or you, for that matter?" 

"Mister Strider, sir," Sam interjected, hurriedly, "I don't think that's none of our business, if you'll take my meaning."

Aragorn looked startled, and then seemed to remember his manners. "Oh, I beg your pardon, Lady," he murmured, "I hope you will not have taken offense."

I laughed and turned off the camera. "No, I'm not offended. Actually, I'll tell you why he's blue, but you have to swear not to let him know I told you."

At the promise of a secret, all conversations stopped. They all nodded solemnly and leaned in closer.

"You see," I started, "it's a bit of a medical mystery. He started drinking blue energy shakes about five years ago, and the dye in the drinks has managed to tint his skin. He tried not drinking the shakes to see if the colour would fade, but it didn't help... neither did constant bathing."

I looked at the stunned faces around me as they in turn looked in horror at the drink he had been slurping only moments ago. Pippin looked up from the lemonade he was sipping.

"Excuse me," he said worriedly, "will your lemonade turn me yellow?"

"No," I smiled, "that's all natural. I have no idea what's in those shakes of his."

The clanging of a door made us all turn to look as AW exited the Diner.

"Oh," I said quickly, "Please don't mention this to him. He's quite sensitive about it." I hit 'record' on the camera again.

They only had time to nod their assent before AW himself returned, burdened by a paper bag. 

"Sorry, I couldn't convince Al to open early," he started, "he had just started eating his salad." The group groaned. "But," he said, "I did manage to swipe some food for you," he beamed as he started unpacking his bag. "Oh, and by the way," he added, "is that old guy over there all right? His snoring sounds like an underwater hurricane in a funnel. Al was quite concerned. He said the noise was ruining his digestion."

"Yes, he's fine," Legolas answered, "he just has a very bad cold. Let him sleep, please. He finds it difficult cramped in the back with all the paraphernalia we seem to need to carry with us."

AW shrugged, "Ok, if you say so." He then proceeded to name what he had laid out on the table, "We have a loaf of bread, peanut butter and strawberry jam, maple syrup, a bag of apples, a can of sardines... oh, and Drew," he grinned, holding up a jar, "I got the expired olives you asked for."

Before I could say that I had been kidding, Pippin snatched up the bottle, pried off the lid and sat down abruptly.

"I'm sae hungry," he moaned, as he plunged his hand into the jar, "I'll eat enything." He pulled out a handful of olives and crammed them in his mouth. 

Since I have a strong gag reflex, and don't like olives at the best of times, I had to turn away. To keep my mind off the bad olives, I started making peanut butter and jam sandwiches for everyone.

"And..." AW said proudly, "I brought back enough energy shakes for everyone!"

Everyone stopped moving and looked at AW, horrified. Trying to be subtle, they inched back, suddenly taking interest in the mundane landscape around us. I casually poured lemonade and passed it around.

"Not interested?" AW said cheerily, "Right then, more for me!"

Pippin looked up at me from where he sat on the ground devouring olives, "Make sure ye do it right."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, startled, "Do it right?"

He nodded, speech slightly impaired by a mouthful of green goo, "Right to the sides."

I was now completely bewildered, "What on earth are you talking about?" I reached for the one cell phone, and handed it to AW motioning for him to call the paramedics. I thought that, perhaps, the olives were affecting his mind.

"Um, Miss?" said a voice near my right elbow, "he means the spreads. He wants the spreads to go right to the sides of the bread..." Merry looked down at Pippin to confirm. Pippin muffled something incoherent, and made a sweeping motion with the jar. "Oh, right, and they should be distributed evenly," Merry continued to interpret, "by way of a deliberate side-to-side motion.... If you please!" he added hastily, his manners obviously an afterthought.

I stared at the two of them, completely nonplussed, and was unsure how to proceed. I had never met someone who could on one hand, eat a jar of expired olives, and on the other hand, give extremely specific instructions on the fabrication of a simple sandwich! 

I guess he noticed my confusion because Legolas leaned over and whispered reassuringly, "Don't worry about them. Once you hand them the sandwich, it'll be devoured instantaneously. They'll never notice the insides." Nodding slowly, I turned back to my sandwich assembly line.

AW started passing out apples so our guests didn't die of hunger waiting for lunch. "Um, guys," he said, looking around as if unsure who to address, "shouldn't someone wake up the ..uh... old guy?"

"No," Legolas answered, "I think we should let him sleep."

"Let him sleep?!?" yelled the nose whistler - I mean Aragorn, "Do YOU want a hungry, and therefore cranky, wizard breathing down our necks?"

"Cranky, but lovable," said a soft voice.

Aragorn swung around to locate the source of the contradiction, "WHAT?"

AW looked up, surprised, "Al?... oh, nevermind."

"To be fair," Frodo continued, "Gandalf is cranky, but lovable: cranky before lunch, lovable after lunch."

"Gah!" Aragorn cried, casting his eyes heavenward, "from aggravating Hobbits to ridiculous diners, Valar preserve me!

Hoping to forestall another verbal rampage, AW and I got out THE picnic table, THE picnic blanket and THE lounge chair. Noticing the food preparation had ceased, and the set-up had begun, Gimli claimed possession of the chaise-lounge. The ... Hobbits? ... descended on the blanket, and turned in my direction with amazingly compelling puppy-dog eyes. Aragorn looked placated for the moment, and gestured for Legolas to go wake Gandalf, then sat down gingerly on the edge of the table bench. Legolas sighed, and jogged gracefully over to the Diner entrance and bent over the noisily sleeping figure. From my vantage point, I saw him reach out to touch the older man on the shoulder when Gandalf sat bolt upright, wide awake. 

"Aber Guenevere, ich bin doch kitzlig!" he blurted in what I vaguely recognized as German, "Verflickt und zugenäeht!" (2)

Poor Legolas was obviously startled by this sudden and complete return to consciousness. He lost his balance and started to topple backwards. To this day, I can't say how he did it, but he turned a possible asphalt-burnt-behind into a perfect back-walkover. Righting himself, he leaned down and gave Gandalf a hand up. Unfortunately, Legolas' aura of effortless recovery was effectively ruined. Gandalf simply tapped him gently on the head with his staff, and Legolas tripped over his own feet as he turned to rejoin us.

Spotting me, Gandalf altered his course and stopped right in front of me. He gently took my right hand in his, kneeled and bowed his head slightly. "Enchanté, Madmoiselle," he said, in surprisingly good French, "Je voudrais demander votre pardon... mes amis ne sont pas toujours si... rustique." (3)

I laughed. "Oh," I said as he released my hand, "please, don't mention it."

Everyone watched this exchange open-mouthed. The hobbits giggled and nudged one another.

"She's blushing," cried Pippin.

Merry elbowed Pippin in the ribs and winked. "Watch this," he said in an undertone, "it will knock her socks off." He sauntered over to me with a cocky grin on his face. Shoving his hands in his vest pockets, he said, loudly and clearly, "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?" (4)

Gandalf choked. I was stunned. Without thinking, I slapped him. Hard. He fell backwards. Hard. The asphalt kissed his bottom... hard. To a grown man, the slap would have merely turned his face and stung, but Merry was considerably smaller than a grown man... and the effect was a little more noticeable.

"Well," Pippin muttered, "at least someone's socks were knocked off."

AW, who had remained silent, piped up, "And you're lucky you didn't get your teeth knocked out too!" He loomed over the fallen lad and said almost pleasantly, but with a thread of steal just bellow the surface, "If you ever say something like that to my sister again I'll..." he grinned evilly and snatched up the lacrosse stick, "use my imagination."

Pippin glanced from the stick to AW's face, paled and nodded vigorously. 

As AW stalked off, I heard Sam whisper to Merry, "What did you say?"

"I don't know," Merry wailed softly, "I heard it on the radio the whole time we were in Quebec... I thought it would make me sound smart!" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gandalf guiltily pull a cassette tape out of his pocket, drop it on the ground and crunch it under the heel of his boot. I don't think anyone else noticed, they were too busy laughing at Merry.

Sam snorted. "My old Gaffer used to say, 'It's better to keep your mouth shut and have the world think you're a fool, than to open your mouth and prove them right.' 

Aragorn jumped up and looked from Gandalf to me and back again, stunned. "You-... Y..." he sputtered, "You speak FRENCH? You said you didn't... that whole time we were lost in the French province... you could have HELPED??"

I'm not entirely sure, but I think Gandalf smirked beneath his beard and replied calmly, "You never asked. You simply assumed I didn't speak French." Then he grinned, "Besides, you should have seen the lot of you, struggling with the phrase book, 'La plume de ma tante est sur la table, où est la toilette?'" (5) With that, he dissolved into giggles and sat down suddenly on the edge of the table.

Aragorn stood helplessly, his eyes bulged and his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. Finally, he gave up and sat down next to the hobbits. I silently passed him two sandwiches which he took without comment. The conversations died down as everyone devoured their one star lunch lunches. After several moments of quiet munching, Sam looked at Aragorn and said timidly, "Pardon me, Mr. Strider, sir," he quailed as Aragorn turned and glared at him, but continued gamely, "but the van is ticking... Is that a good thing?"

Aragorn took a deep breath, apparently to find his equilibrium, and replied somewhat rationally, "Yes, Sam, it is a good thing. The mechanic in New York said that engines tick as they cool down. Perhaps all the van needs is some time to cool dow-"

He may have finished his sentence, but no one ever heard what he said. Not that anyone cared much or even noticed. Accounts vary as to exactly what happened next. I guess it depends where we were standing, what we saw. I wasn't looking in the right direction at the time, so by the time _I_ looked at the van, it reminded me of Moses and the burning bush... except there was no bush, and Aragorn's wail did not remotely sound like the voice of God. The van was completely engulfed in flames, and a green mushroom cloud ascended over 50 feet above it.

Everyone stood or sat perfectly still, eyes wide and mouths slack. Time stood still.

It's funny. You never look for the defining moments in life, yet they still find you. Little did I know this was one of them... and boy! It was a doozy! 

~*~*~*~*~

(1) BSB - Boromir's sick bag. Special thanks to Maryn Falkner for letting us borrow one.

(2) Aber Guenevere, ich bin doch kitzlig! = But Guenevere, I'm ticklish!

Verflickt und zugenäeht! = literally: All torn apart and sewn back again; not so literally: what the heck do these twits want NOW?

(3) Enchanté, Madmoiselle = Enchanted, my dear

Je voudrais demander votre pardon... mes amis ne sont pas toujours si... rustique. = I would like to ask for your pardon... my friends are not always this... uncouth.

(4) Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir? = Would you like to sleep with me tonight?

(5) La plume de ma tante est sur la table, où est la toilette? = My aunt's pen is on the table, where is the bathroom?

~*~*~*~*~

Special thanks to San Antonio Rose for the German translations.


	2. It's Thursday

Disclaimer: See chapter one. I'm not typing it out again. Yes. I'm lazy. As for Casey, he's made up too... and not the owner of a dog named Finigan... unless you really want him to be. And "Hole-in-Two... or Three" is a fictional mini-putt place. I mean, who would name their putting place something like that?! That's just stupid!

Authors' notes:

Drew: We are sorry this took so long. Sorry sorry sorry! But... You can't rush good humour... You rush good humour, you get rotten good humour. No one likes rotten humour.

AW: And to make up for it, the second chapter is about twice as long as the first one. It was completely by accident, but we won't tell you that. ... Wait... D'oh!  
  


Chapter Two: "It's Thursday!"

It was several minutes before we could look directly at the van again, or at least, what was left of it. The tires had melted onto the concrete, the glass had been blown out and now sparkled in the dancing light, and the worn plush upholstery had been very content to go up in smoke and reveal the metal springs beneath. No one had moved, then again, without a vehicle, where could they go?

The stunned group of travelers were lost for words.

Well, almost.

"Goodness." Frodo muttered.

"Gracious." Merry whispered.

And surprisingly, ended with...

"Great balls of fire." The elf had completed my thought. I had to stifle the laugh that threatened to erupt.

"Is it cool enough now, Mr Strider, sir?" Sam quietly inquired.

I would have thought that would have been the end of the Hobbit, if it wasn't for AW falling off the table from where he had been sitting. I stood up to see if he was alright. He was fine, but paralysed; with laughter that is. At length, he gasped for air and roared in mirth, causing Aragorn to spin around and focus the concentrated frustration and rage on my hapless brother. The nose whistle had returned in full force.

"I fail to see what is amusing in this situation, blue-elf!" He slowly approached AW, clenching and unclenching his fists as a way to control himself, though I have never seen knuckles turn that white. "That was our only mode of transportation and I emphasize the word 'only'."

For a moment, AW stopped guffawing to look at Aragorn. A stupid grin was on his face and tear trails marked his cheeks. Only for a moment, for he started up with a "...green... cloud...BOOM!" and he was off again. It was then that Aragorn leaped at AW with a sound that resembled what my dog makes when the mailman ventures too close to our mailbox. How AW got out from under there while bent over double, I'll never understand, but that began the chase that could have only been accompanied by some fast-paced piano music from the twenties.

While AW ran around the parking lot clutching his sides at the hilarity of the situation, and Aragorn closely behind him with his arms stretched out, ready to grab any part of my brother and rip to shreds, the hypnotic spell the flames had cast over everyone else was suddenly broken.

"Our suitcases!"

"My mushrooms!"

"My finger!"

The small crowd of six men and I turned and looked to the source of the outlandish statement. Frodo stood, staring at the van as if his prized possession was burning along with it. Legolas was the first to say what was on everyone's mind.

"Your... finger?" he stammered out. "You had your finger in the van?!"

Frodo nodded. "Yes. In a large jar of formaldehyde, in fact."

Suddenly, my lunch failed to be appetizing.

Legolas paused for a moment for that to seep into comprehension. I don't think it ever made it. "And how, little sir, did you happen to reclaim your finger when it was still attached to the One Ring, and dragged into the heart of Mount Doom by the miserable creature, Gollum?"

Frodo looked up at the blonde elf with his impossible blue eyes. "A plot hole," he stated simply.

Legolas paused again and then simply nodded, as if this was the most logical solution ever conceived and left it at that.

At that moment, AW came running up to the table breathing heavily and holding his aching sides from laughing and the quick sprint he had taken around the parking lot. He put up one hand to stop Aragorn from fulfilling a half hour wish; the annihilation of my brother. This motion did in fact just that. 

"I have a proposition for you." AW spoke between gasps. "I will allow you to kill me, if-" he looked at the shocked Aragorn from the corner of his eye, "if you can find a something that rhymes with orange."

The dark man blinked several times, unsure what to make of this statement that was just given him. He looked as if he was about to answer, when Gandalf jumped in. "Give it a try, Aragorn. It is a good challenge and what have you got to lose?"

Aragorn spun on his heel and faced the old man. "Only my chance to wring his little blue neck and see what colour blue elf turns when you choke it!" he shot back.

The old man got a look in his eye that I give to my daughter when she's misbehaving. "Aragorn..."

Strangely enough, Aragorn returned Gandalf's look with the same look my daughter gives back. "But Gandalf...."

Gandalf continued to *look*.

Grudgingly, Aragorn kicked the dirt in frustration and turned to my brother. "I accept." he said, barely audible.

While getting AW out of trouble was normal, getting him away from homicidal nose-whistlers was a novelty. I wondered how I could save him without endangering myself. Looking at my watch, I was relieved to see it was nearly one o'clock. I glanced across the parking lot. Sure enough, Alfie was running towards us, paranoid about being late. I nodded to him and walked over AW, placing myself between him and Aragorn. 

"I have to get changed, Alfie's coming, and he'll need the uniform... Make sure no one comes into the shed?"

At AW's nod, I headed to my car to retrieve my blouse and skirt. Closing the car door, I entered the dark shed and proceeded to change out of the Rent-All shirt. One size fits all, my foot! I just hope Alfie remembered it was his turn to wash it. Yuck. Wearing my own clothes once again, I walked back outside, feeling much more like myself, and much less like a carbon-copy employee. I squinted in the sunlight and realized that everyone was still standing, much to my relief. 

As much as I would have liked to stay and watch the travelling circus, AW and I had an appointment. Passing the uniform to Alfie, who was standing in front of the table starting at the new arrivals with an expression that could only be described as 'When did we get to Disney Land?', I nodded to AW and we headed off to "The Hole in Two... or Three."

We had crossed no more than half of the parking lot before Aragorn screamed at us, "AND JUST WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?"

AW turned around and started walking backwards as he replied, "Mini-golfing. It's Thursday" and, as if that explained everything, he turned back around and jogged to catch up with me.

There was a moment of complete silence from behind us before... "Wait... they're leaving?"

"Yes, apparently, Sam," ...I assumed that was Frodo.

Silence descended on the strange group once again, and we thought we were free. Could we have been more wrong? Walking quickly, we hoped to escape unscathed, but the powers that be had other ideas. 

"Don't turn around," I whispered to AW, "but we're being followed."

AW, being an idiot, turned around immediately, saying, "What? Wh-?.. Gah!"

Seeing as we had no chance of avoiding whoever was behind us now, I turned around and was confronted by a very strange tableau: AW and Legolas stood nose to nose, AW's face was frozen in that expression that comes _just_ before laughter consumes your entire being, and Legolas was rooted to the spot, reaching out to tap AW's shoulder. Neither Elf moved for the space of about fifteen seconds. Legolas was the first to break eye contact and he stepped back a pace. That movement seemed to remind AW that this was by far the most bizarre afternoon of his life, and he dissolved into giggles... again. 

Giving AW my "I'm not impressed" look, I turned to Legolas and waited. He directed his gaze towards me and smiled, managing to ignore AW quite nicely. I liked him already. Anyone who can ignore *my brother* is OK in my books.

"I beg your pardon, Lady," he began apologetically, "but my companions and I are in a bit of a situation. Our van is... feeling under the weather, our belongings have... joined the weather, and our driver is ... in no condition to be left alone. For providing us with a luncheon, we thank you. I would ask you one question further..."

I merely raised my eyebrows and waited. AW was still trying to breathe through the worst case of the giggles this month.

Smiling beautifully, Legolas continued, "I was wondering if you would be able to recommend us to suitable lodging for the night?"

I nearly melted under the smile. Mentally slapping myself, I turned to AW and punched him in the arm.

"Snap out of it," I told him, "It's not *that* funny."

The laughter stopped, but when he turned to look at me, his eyes were wide with mirth and unshed tears.

"Well?" I prompted.

"Hmm?" 

I rolled my eyes. "AW, you are pathetic. Have you heard nothing?"

He grinned, "No, not since 'stuff has joined the weather,'" nearly losing it again.

Giving Legolas an apologetic look, I asked AW, "Can you think of anywhere they can stay tonight?"

AW thought seriously for a moment. "Well, they can't stay with the Moffats, the Williams' or the Morrisons... Ottawa is too far away for them to walk, and they won't all fit in your Saturn. They wouldn't like the Webster's barn..."

Legolas took advantage of the pause to ask hopefully, "Do they have horses?"

I smiled wryly, "Nope, just pigs."

He shuddered and went silent.

AW continued to think out loud, "What about the Charrons?"

I shook my head, "They've gone to Alaska... you know how they hate the heat."

AW nodded, "Right. I can't think of any other place."

Disappointment was written all over his face and Legolas shoulders drooped almost imperceivably. He bowed shortly and said very politely, "Again, I thank you." With that, he turned to join the others. 

Not wanting to leave him... er.._them_ stranded in the parking lot, I surprised myself (and AW) by blurting out, "Wait! Youcanstayatourhouse!"

Legolas paused, and turned around. He looked at me for a minute, one eyebrow quirked, apparently trying to figure out what I had just said. He eventually deciphered it and smiled again.

AW stood there, stunned. He grabbed my arm, panicked. "Nonono!! They can't stay at our house!" he freaked.

"No? Why not?" I countered, trying not to melt... again.

He spoke forcefully, through his teeth, "What about Father?"

Right. Father. How could I forget such an obvious obstacle? The melting ceased. I thought for a moment. "What about the backyard?"

"The big, green, nasty, canvas piece-of-crap-tent?"

I nodded, "And the Rent-All has a pup tent... good for two men..." I glanced behind Legolas to the others, "or four small people?"

AW shrugged, "Yeah, sure!" he turned to Legolas, "It's Thursday. Wanna go mini-putting? Casey will be holding our spot."

The poor blond Elf. He had no idea what mini-putt was, or if he had a place to stay. He _did_ know that it was Thursday, though. 

Oops! He didn't even know who *we* were!

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." I said, moderately horrified, "We haven't introduced ourselves yet. I'm Drew, and this is my brother AW."

Legolas paused a moment. "Forgive me, but neither of those are very 'elvish' names, if you'll pardon my saying so."

AW pretended he hadn't heard the question. I started to explain, and AW stomped on my foot. I knew immediately why he did so and he had good reason. I stopped, saving *that* juicy bit of information for later.

I walked over to Legolas and put my hand on his arm, meaning to offer his friends the use of our backyard. Mmm.. Muscle... Strong....I looked into his eyes... Wow, were they ever blue... 

....

"Um, hi. This is AW. Drew kinda stopped noticing things for a while. So I guess that makes it my turn. Now, where did we leave off?... oh, right... the parking lot, just before the mini-putting.

I think Drew may have muttered something about the backyard, but his look of confusion made it clear that he needed to be asked again. After _I_ offered Legolas and Co. the use of our background and piece of cra- tent, his entire demeanor changed. He left us standing there and sprinted back to tell Aragorn. The nose whistling stopped abruptly.

"We're going camping?" Aragorn asked hopefully.

Legolas nodded.

"Outside?"

Legolas nodded again.

Pippin spoke up worriedly, "But... aren't there bears outside?"

Aragorn was starting to get excited, "Oh, I hope so!... and maybe we'll see a moose!"

"Is a moose anything like an oliphaunt?" Sam was curious.

"Uh. No, Sam. No," Aragorn said, starting to mellow.

This was getting stupid and I was getting bored. "I'm leaving. It's Thursday. The mini-putt bus is leaving the station. Move it or lose it!" and I turned to leave. To my surprise, every last one of them got up and followed me down the road.

Drew soon caught up to me, and as we walked she kept tugging on my sleeve and whispering.

"He's stronger than he looks."

I nodded. Really, I didn't care.

"He looks like a stick!"

Nod.

"A stick!"

.... This was getting old fast. "Drew, how old are you?"

She blinked. "That isn't something you ask a lady."

"You're no lady!" I snorted, "You're my sister!"

.... She hit me. 

"See!"

She hit me again. This could have gone on forever and likely *would* have continued for some time, had we not arrived at "The Hole in Two... or Three" just then. Casey looked out of his window. He froze mid-wave as he saw more and more unusual people come around the corner, apparently mini-putt bound. I could almost see the dollar signs in his eyes.

He leaned out. "Hey, AW, Drew... and... friends?"

I nodded, "For lack of a better term. And, yes, they're with us."

"Right," he said calmly, "how many?"

I counted quickly, "Ten."

"Eleven," Pippin spoke up, "you forgot to include Boromir." 

Yes. He and Merry had dragged the body all the way over here.. with their patented 'left, right, left.. No, *my* left' method.

"Absolutely not," I said, shaking my head vigorously, "There is NO way I'm paying for the corpse!"

"Please?" Merry pleaded, "Be a sport."

Drew was snickering. I turned to look at her. "What?" She pointed at Casey.

Casey, the poor guy, was totally lost. At this point, he had removed his glasses and was blinking rapidly at Boromir, as if trying to make him disappear... or reanimate him. I felt sorry for him (Casey, that is)... really, I did. But there was still no way I was paying for a corpse to play mini golf.

"NO!" I said more forcefully.

Drew quit laughing momentarily, and walked over to the counter. She waved her hand in front of Casey's eyes and said softly, "We don't need to pay for the body."

Casey blinked.

"And the rest of us will play for free," she continued.

Casey blinked and then grinned good naturedly. "Drew, your 'Jedi mind tricks' didn't work last week, and they won't work this week. Though I do agree. I won't make you pay for the ... remains."

Drew smiled, convinced that weeks of trying her mind tricks on Casey were starting to pay off. Shaking my head, I pulled her away from the window and pushed her aside... lucky for her, the blond was nearby. She didn't seem to mind.

Casey scanned the group. "Four kids under 12 and six adults?"

"But I'm not-" Pippin protested.

Aragorn glared at him, "And are you paying?"

Pippin looked at Casey, nodded and confirmed, "I'm eleven."

Gandalf, who had been remarkably calm and collected since the whole fire episode, spoke up. "I thank you for the offer, but I believe I will decline. It is so pleasant not to be confined to the back seat. I will take myself on a walk."

I looked at Legolas, "How is his sense of direction?"

"Excellent," he replied, "though he tends to wander."

Wonderful. Glancing at my watch. "I'm assuming an hour should be enough for us to complete the course," I told Gandalf, "Could you please be back by then?"

With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "I shall endeavour to do my very best." And he walked towards Sticksville 'downtown.'

That sounded distinctly ominous. Drew and I looked questioningly at Legolas. He grinned and shrugged. "You guess is as good as mine," he said, "He likes to keep us guessing. And he's quite good at it."

Wonderbar. Having paid for four children and five adults (not including the cadaver), the instructions of the game began.

"Everyone takes a putter." I designated a putter for each. "And everyone take a ball."

"AW, here's your green ball. Drew, here's your blue ball. And for the rest, here are the rest of the colour choices-"

"I would like a green ball too."

" -white, red, orange-"

"I want green."

" -navy, yellow, pink, purple-"

"Can I have a green one too?"

" -and black?"

I turned around to face the group to see who had spoken of the request for *my* ball colour choice. All seven of them were grinning stupidly at me. I blinked. "You have got to be kidding. You *all* want green balls?"

They nodded.

"But," I tried to explain, "you all need different colours of balls so, you can keep track of which one is yours!"

"I'm a Ranger" snapped Aragorn, "I can track *anything*!"

Right.

I turned to Casey. I saw it in his eyes. They were mocking me. Loudly. "Seven more green balls Casey, please." I said, amusement lacking from my voice.

"Sorry, no can do, AW." His eyes were just screaming 'I'm just glad it's not me.' "You see, with the lack of business here in Sticksville, we only have seven of each colour, green included."

If I were an anime character, I would have tear-dropped. As it was, I merely stood there staring at Casey. Courtesy demanded I let my 'guests' chose first. I sighed. 

"I'll take a blue one."

Drew hit me.

"I'll take a red one."

I passed out the balls and lead the way to the first green. "The point of the game is to hit the ball into the hole using as few shots as possible. The lowest score at the end of the 18 holes wins. It's very simple."

"I don't understand." I turned around. Pippin. Of course.

Breathing in slowly and counting to ten, I tried again, "You put your ball *here,* hit it like *this* and it goes in the hole *there*." As I spoke, I demonstrated, allowing myself a small smile as the red ball made a bee line for the hole and sank into the cup with a satisfying "plunk."

"Now, I hit the ball once, so my score so far is 'one.'" 

"I don't understan-," Pippin interrupted me

"Hush Pip. He's not finished." I didn't even look. Merry. I was beginning to understand why Aragorn had a nose whistle.

I counted to twenty this time, ten not being enough, but before I could say anything, Drew stepped up and said, "You whack the ball with the stick until it goes in the hole. Try not to whack it too hard, or too often."

"Oooh! Is that all?" 

I nodded patiently and I turned to Drew, "I talk, you translate for me."

She chuckled. "And why is it *I'm* the one that can translate? You're the guy."

I shrugged. "Maybe they'll listen to you more."

She shrugged in return and dropped her ball almost casually onto the green. To the untrained eye, it looked like she hit the ball at random because it bounced from edge to edge the whole length of the green, but I knew better. We didn't play every Thursday and not improve. She was just showing off. I didn't even have to watch to know the ball dropped into the cup. It always did. I heard the familiar "plunk". She walked over to the hole and picked out both balls, tossing mine to me. 

"Ok, who's next?" she asked, looking at the crowd.

Before anyone could speak, Pippin stepped forward and stated determinedly, "I am." 

"No, Mr. Frodo should be first." Sam countered, "He's a Baggins." As if that explained everything.

Pippin was annoyed, "And that makes him better *how*?"

"A Took wouldn't understand," Sam said loftily.

Pippin just glared at Sam, but moved aside to allow Frodo to putt. As Pippin muttered something under his breath, Sam practically pushed Frodo to the front of the line. Seeing as no one minded him going first, Frodo tried to ignore the interested stares of his companions and placed his ball precisely in the centre of the starting green.

"Now keep your head down," I instructed. "And keep your eye on the ball. The little line on top of the putter is to help you aim for the hole."

He nodded and tried to line up the putter. Just as he started to swing, Drew added, "No pressure."

He caught himself before the club made contact with the ball and took a deep breath. Sam glared at Drew and she backed up, supposedly to write everyone's names on the score cards. Frodo's second put was more successful, though it didn't make it in the hole. Sam cried out in disappointment. Even Frodo looked slightly shocked that his ball was still on the green. I heard a snicker, a jab in the ribs and a cry of pain. When I looked, Pippin was doubled over, glaring at Merry, who was shushing him. 

Drew looked sorry for Frodo. "Don't feel bad," she said kindly, "AW and I play every week, so I guess we make it look easy. In truth, it's a game that requires good math skills, balance, finesse, aim and depth perception." 

Sam was next, but I don't believe his mind was on the purpose of the game, for he hit his ball as far from Frodo's as was physically possible, and then ran to *Frodo's* ball and watched it intently. 

He looked at all of us, "This one is Master Frodo's ball. No one is to touch it."

I'm pretty sure Aragorn sighed here. Can't say that I blamed him. The Hobbits were enthusiastic, energetic and like they were eight years old. I could only hope they were playing along with the 'under 12' facade. But somehow, deep down inside, I doubted it.

Legolas quickly stepped up to the putting green, with the air of expertise about him, though I am *sure* had never hit a golf ball in his *life*.

"Hey!" Pippin protested. "I thought I was going next. How come you get to go?"

Legolas smirked (a look I recognised as *Elven superiority*... Drew gives it to me all the time), "Because I have all the qualifications for this game and you, Master Pippin, do not."

Pippin gave yet another glare, but not to his partner in crime. It was then that I noticed that the... um... carcass wasn't being supported by the young hobbits. I glanced around and finally saw him, kneeling, leaning up against the wooden pole that hosted the hole number, a aluminum putter placed on his lap with his arm to keep it from slipping.

I shuddered. Why on earth would they be dragging around this body everywhere they went and pretended that it was real? Was it time for their medication? Or mine, for that matter? Must be way past mine, since I'm not *on* any medication.

It was most definitely them. 

"Um," I began, trying to phrase this correctly as to not doom myself to yet another bombardment of fresh nose whistling. "But, why are you carrying around ...uh... the... um..." I couldn't think of anything, so I pointed, though I knew and had been taught since child hood that I shouldn't.

Merry smiled. "Boromir? Oh well, the story about why we," he indicated the unusual group, "are together in the first place is a fairly long and detailed one. To shorten it to a blunt point, when Boromir was alive, he was part of the group. Aragorn thought it would be a good idea to have everyone back together as it was for a time. Though sadly, we can't resurrect him, hence the state he's in."

I nodded. Just how does one absorb that?

Just then, Legolas came, picked up Merry and moved him closer to the green. "Stay there," he instructed to the hobbit and seemed to test the air resistance. I looked at Drew, who looked like she was going to start to fall asleep. I leaned over.

"What's going on? What's he doing?" I whispered.

Her eyes came back into focus. I was wrong. She *had* been sleeping. Drew blinked, and turned to look at me. "Hmm?" she said, "Did you say something?"

I nodded in the other Elf's direction, just in time to see him pick up Frodo and move him four feet to the left. He licked his finger, held it in the air, moved it around, then bent Frodo's right arm at a 90 degree angle, at the elbow. He then repeated the process with his finger, adjusting Frodo twice more. Seemingly satisfied, he walked over to Sam. 

"What's he doing?" I repeated.

She shrugged, looking bored. Apparently the fascination for the blond had worn off. "Do you remember how we told them," she said, motioning to the group, "that mini-putt was a game of skill and accuracy?"

I nodded.

"Well," she sighed, "He has taken it to heart, and has yet to hit the ball."

Again, tear-dropping would have been appropriate, but instead, I just blinked.

Aragorn strode over to Legolas and stood just behind him. "Are all Mirkwood Elves so slow to take aim?" he asked sardonically.

The Elf didn't change in posture or facial expression, but I *knew* Aragorn had hit a nerve. How, you ask? Legolas hit the ball immediately. With all his preparation, you'd think the ball would have gone in the hole. Nothing could be farther from the truth. He did not even bat an eyelash, but I think he was miffed.

The other two hobbits, Merry and Pippin, putted quite uneventfully, for which I would be forever grateful to them.

Gimli motioned politely for Aragorn to precede him. Aragorn stepped forward regally and tapped his ball without much preamble. After his putt, his ball was the closest to the hole and he silently gloated over Legolas. 

Seeing that he was the last *living* player to attempt the first green, Gimli stepped up to the astroturf and placed his ball slightly off centre on the mat. After studying the terrain a moment, he gripped his club confidently and hit his ball. We all watched with growing amazement as his ball propelled itself in a direct line to the hole, narrowly missing the apparently random green ball that Sam was guarding. The moving ball dropped into the hole almost silently. Gimli ignored Sam's indignant glare and retrieved his ball proudly.

Aragorn blinked. Legolas blinked. The hobbits cheered. Drew and I applauded softly.

Gimli looked smug. "What?" he asked, "You didn't know? The Dwarves have been playing something very similar for centuries. We call it *Glîm Clawbow*."

"You play mini-putt?" Drew was astounded.

"Yes," Gimli grinned, "It is a favourite pass-time for the Dwarves."

I nodded. "Nice."

Finally it was the cadaver's turn. Supported by the small figures of both Merry and Pippin, Boromir "walked" to the green. They had, by this time, taped his hands to the putter with duct tape and were trying their best to "teach" him how to putt.

"Bend your knees... Boromir. Now look down, watch the ball." The two hobbits were having a time trying to keep him from falling while also getting the flopping appendages to function properly. It was quite a feat to watch. But it didn't stop Pippin from trying his best. "Keep your back arm bent..."

By the sound of Merry's voice, it sounded as if he was shaking his head. "Oh, Pip... It's not going to work; he's all straight."

I think Aragorn had had enough of waiting for people to putt. "Just have him hit the ball, if you don't mind, little gentlemen." I could tell he was trying his hardest to remain polite.

With the first round of putts completed, the chaos began. With eight identical green balls in various closeness to the hole, the only ball that we knew for 100% who's it was, was Frodo's, for Sam was *still* watching it closely. In fact, his nose was six inches away from it, and it looked as if he expected it to come alive at any moment. But for the first hole, at least everyone was *fairly* sure which ball was whose.

After completing the first hole with Drew, Gimli and I tied for first, we headed for the second hole. I placed my ball onto the spot where the green was the most worn. I lightly aimed at the hole, as I could most likely do all eighteen holes with my eyes closed, or better yet, asleep, when Drew pulled on my sleeve again.

"His eyes were *blue*!" She whispered.

"Yes Drew." I lined up to putt again.

"Like my ball." She held up the blue sphere.

"Yes Drew." I lined up to put-

"Bluuuuue!"

I glared at her. "Shhh!" I hissed. "Not while I'm putting!"

Just as I swung to hit my ball....

"Bluuuuue mooooooon...." came singing from right behind me were I knew Drew was.

I couldn't stop my putter as it was on the down swing. I tried to miss. I really did. But I made contact and it moved three inches.

"THAT COUNTS!" Came a gleeful shout from the Drew vincinity.

I spun around with wrath most likely flashing in my eyes. "You know, this means war..."

Drew smirked with inner delight. "Like it wasn't before?"

"... Quiet you."

I had to tune Drew out this time, in case she tried it again. It worked. "Plunk." A hole-in-two.

Since Drew and Gimli were tied, she turned to him and said, "Guests first."

Gimli looked truly shocked. "Of course not!" he argued, "Forgive me for contradicting, my dear, but I believe it is 'Ladies first.'"

Drew smiled, blushed and stepped forward.

I heard snickering from behind me. Merry and Pippin, again. 

"She does that an awful lot, doesn't she?" Pippin observed.

"What?" Merry questioned, "Go all pink like that? I think it's charming. Not many ladies can blush nowadays."

I stifled a laugh. Distracting Drew from mini-putt is an art form, and I need to pay attention, not get lost in laughter. 

The tips of Drew's ears were slightly pink, but other than that, she was completely composed. She dropped her ball with a practised ease and lined up for the putt. Payback time. As she turned her head to spot the hole, I took my putter and lightly rubbed the backs of her right knee with it; she's very ticklish there. At first, she tired to ignore me, but that didn't last long. "AW, quit it." I stopped, but only briefly. Naturally, I began again as soon as she aimed once more. "Quit it." I did. ... and started up again. "AW...!" I stopped, and was about to try for a fourth time when a hand stilled my putter. What the...? I turned, then looked down. 

"Can I help you, Master Dwarf?" 

"Yes, you can stop pestering the lady."

"She's no lady," I said, echoing our earlier conversation, "She's my sist-"

He hit me. Hard. I hurt. A lot. 

I had long forgotten how stubborn dwarves could be.

Drew hit her ball... directly into the whole. Her champion fairly beamed.

And then Legolas spoke quietly, "Gimli my friend, these kind ...er... folk, have agreed to put us up for the night. Please remember your manners."

Gimli snorted, "I'll remember mine, once this boy remembers his."

After that I kept my mouth shut.

Needless to say, with seven green balls, and growing impatience... a simple game of 18 holes became.. chaotic, to say the least. Legolas still thought he needed to aim for five minutes, Merry and Pippin were sparring with their putters (Boromir having been temporarily forgotten on a bench), Sam was glowering at anyone and everyone who wandered within a foot of Frodo's ball, and Aragorn had realized that no matter how hard he tried, *his* ball would not go in the hole. Unfortunately, he had found a new skill: hitting everyone *else's* ball with *his* ball. We had to let *six* other groups of golfing tourists play through. I was so embarrassed.

On the up side... Gandalf did make it back before we finished. In fact, he had to wait with the corpse for an hour. He was an hour late returning. I couldn't believe it: Three hours for 18 holes!

And we never did find out who won! Drew insists it was her, only because she was the only blue ball. I like to believe it was Gimli... simply for the fact that it wouldn't be Drew... even though he *did* punch me. He was the lesser of two evils.

I looked at my watch when we had returned the putters, some a little more dented than when he had received them, but none worse to play. It was an hour past my break time. Al was going to kill me. "Oh crap. I'm really sorry, guys." I said hurriedly, "but I'm late for work. I'll have to see you all later."

"Wait!" Drew grabbed my arm. Now *she* looked panicked. "You can't leave me with eight men and a corpse!" She whispered in my ear, careful as to not allow the elf to hear. "You *can't.*"

Right. I could see why she was so at... unease with this group. I couldn't blame her. "Okay... okay." Sure, she annoyed me, but she was my sister, after all. "I'll see if I can get the day off, ... that is... if Al isn't furious with me."

I took off towards the diner and ran as fast as I could. I had never been late before. It was hard to be late for Al. I didn't know how he would react. I flung open the door...only to find that Al had just finished his soup. He wasn't finished his lunch. I could have killed *him*. But remembering Drew, I took a deep breath "Al, I was wondering if I could have the rest of the day off. Something has... come up and it needs my immediate attention. ... Could I?" I asked as calmly as I could.

Though he was a little angry since I had been so loud upon entering the diner, it looked as if he was controlling his anger too. But he surprised me with, "That's an excellent idea, AW. That way I can eat in complete peace and quiet. Done. Take the rest off."

"With pay?" I asked hopefully.

"Don't push it."

I didn't pursue the matter further, but grabbed my change of clothes and my book that I normally read after Drew and my daily lunch activities and exited the diner as quickly as I had come. Al began on his main course.

I reached Drew's car and waited for the group to arrive. I changed out of my "Al's" uniform shirt and put on my most loved 'Legend of Zelda' t-shirt and also changed my socks. As I watched the group approach, I prayed to Eru that Dad wouldn't have a new litter of kittens when Drew and I arrived home, with all of our new "friends".

Now, the problem of getting them all home... in one piece. Well, I'm sure Boromir wouldn't mind arriving in more than one piece, but Pippin and Merry would make sure those pieces remain together.

  
  


When Drew jokingly suggested that the Hobbits ride ontop of the little red Saturn, I laughed, but they on the other hand jumped at the idea. She tried to explain that she was only joking, but by that time, both Pippin and Merry had already climbed up. We *carefully* stuffed Boromir into the trunk, but were not allowed to close the lid as for the fact that he was "afraid of the dark". I quickly "rented" the 'Rent-it-all' pup tent and crammed it into the trunk when the hobbits were too busy chatting happily together.

The hobbits were having a wonderful time. I had managed to find enough duct tape to make their hands and knees sticky, so they wouldn't slip of the roof at the first corner. I could hear them cheering on the invisible horse, and giving a running commentary to Boromir. I'm sure he was enthralled.

I'm glad they had fun. The rest of us were crammed into the back seat of Drew's Saturn like so many sardines. It was not as fun. 

Legolas, Aragorn and I were belted in the regular spots, with Gimli very heavily across our laps. I had long forgotten how pointy armour was. Gandalf and Drew were comfortably seated in the front of the car. Lucky them.

Drew drove as slowly as she could, so as not to jolt her double decker passengers. She looked like a nervous wreck - well, to me, she did. To most people, she looked as unperturbed as usual. I can't say that I blamed her. It had been a long day, and now, we were breaking so many laws I had lost track. Wouldn't that just top it off? Getting pulled over by the RCMP?

I sighed with relief when she pulled into the driveway and put the car into park. My relief was short lived, however. Father was sitting on the front steps enjoying the sunshine. 

Ai, Valar! We had forgotten about Father! Again! How could we have overlooked such an insurmountable obstacle? Again!!

The hobbits leaped off the roof and pulled Boromir and the pup-tent out of the trunk. Dropping the tent on the ground they looked around, commenting on everything. Drew and Gandalf climbed out easily and opened the back doors for us. Gimli *crawled* out. Dwarves also have bony knees. Finally freed from our burden the rest of us exited the vehicle, only to be confronted by Father's angry face.

I've never seen that shade of red... or was it purple?... on a face before. Drew saw it and went pale. I saw it and felt death coming. I saw my life flash before my eyes... so little time... so little cheese.. I was too young to die.

I wondered what the Halls of Mandos were like.


	3. Chapter Three Goes Here

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues are products authors' imaginations, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, in entirely coincidental... unless Tolkien thought of it first, in which case it's his. No Aragorns were harmed in the writing of this chapter.  
  
Drew's Note: Sorry, the delay is partly my fault. My husband got a really good job and we had to move (yay us!), and I have only recently reconnected with the internet. Family's doing well and are adjusting well to the house - thank you for asking. So without further ado, here's the plot-advancing, mandatory chapter three. Bon appetite!  
  
AW's note: Hmmm... two chapters per year... We're really sorry about this. But honestly, we've been working really hard for this, and the humour is A+ ... Keyboard spray tested and all. So, sit back and get ready for your side muscles to cramp up in pain, and please enjoy the stupid antics of the modern day Fellowship fic that's done right.  
  
Chapter Three: Chapter Three Goes Here  
  
Mandos. I hoped they had cheese there. Good cheese, not that processed kind... although that *is* the best kind to make grilled cheese sandwiches with. That and onion. Mmm... grilled cheese with onion.  
  
...  
  
...Oh sorry. Where was I?  
  
Oh right, my near death experience number fifty-three.  
  
Father looked as if he would explode and take the equivalent of six city blocks along with him. He never had looked this angry before. Not even the time that I shave the cat when I was fifteen that one summer 'cause I thought the cat looked too hot. Or the time that I tried to dry the cat in the dryer after its bath. Or when I merged his prized Chinese fighting fish into one tank when I was cleaning the other. And then didn't tell him that I had to flush *both* Brêg Morn'lim (1) and Bara Coll'lim (2) to their watery graves. Father won't even let me near the dog, H-ten'huan (3), now. She's Drew's dog.  
  
He didn't even look as angry as that one time when he and Mother went on a vacation to Europe early in the twentieth century (they hadn't been there since the sixteenth century). They said that the place had really been cleaned up very nicely since the last time. Drew had gone to England for two weeks and returned on a boat... oh what was the name... The Mammoth? No... Ti... Ti... Something about Titans. It was a nice boat. Too bad it sank. It was new, too. Drew has the worst time when she takes vacations.  
  
Anyway, you have heard of children killing the house plants by not caring for them well enough? Well, for me in this situation, it was the complete opposite. I cared too much, and I didn't have the heart to prune them. I thought all the plants looked nice like that; I missed the forest. In short, the plants forced me to move out and a week later, Drew found me camping in the backyard in the big, green, nasty, canvas piece-of-crap-tent. Boy, was *she* surprised.  
  
"AW! I've only been gone *a month*!! What happened?!"  
  
So, I used to have a very green thumb, but I lost it. Now I have two blue ones; it's not quite the same.  
  
*****  
  
(Drew nudges AW in the ribs.)  
  
Drew: (British accent) Get on with it!  
  
AW: Right.  
  
******  
  
Upon seeing Father's face, I would have plugged my ears to save my ear drums from the strong barrage of sound waves that were soon going to be pounding against them, but I knew that that would only have made my death a long and painful one. There was nowhere to hide.  
  
"/Ascarer Wilwarin! What in all of Iluvatar's beautiful creation do you think you're doing?!?!/" Even though I was a little bit taller than Father, he seemed to tower over me, but perhaps that was because I was most likely cowering. "/Just because your driving licence was revoked for twenty years doesn't give you the right to endanger your sister. It is your job to protect her!!/" Let's not focus on the fact that *I* was the younger sibling. "/Has that blue dye soaked into your brain and affected your better judgement, or is it just that you have yet to stop being such a child and think rationally?!/" Okay, that bit wasn't fair! It was Drew's idea! But there was no telling him that. His precious angel, Drew, would *never* think of something so off the wall as duct-taping hobbits to the roof of her car. Never in a thousand years. "/Would you stop bringing dishonour to your family! It's bad enough I have a BLUE son!/"  
  
Despite his blue skin, AW paled considerably. Yep, it's me again. AW kind of freezes when Father yells, seeing as the rage usually focused *entirely* on him, and motion tends to aggravate the situation. It's like waving a red flag in front of a raging bull or waving Linux's Tux in front of Bill Gates.   
  
AW showed no signs of movement. Father showed no signs of slowing down. Our guests showed signs of discomfort. The neighbours showed signs of their interest. It was time to intervene.   
  
Taking advantage of Father's pause for air, I stepped forward, inhaled slowly and took the plunge.  
  
"Father, these gentlemen are having... problems with their car and are stranded in Sticksville, at least over night."  
  
Having opened his mouth to continue his tirade, Father paused and shut his mouth. I could almost see him switching gears. He went from incensed to incredibly hospitable in a heartbeat. He smiled at me.  
  
"Thank you, sweetheart," he beamed, "that's my Durere'. Always thinking of others."   
  
Since AW was no longer petrified, he felt it was safe enough to pout. And not being able to leave well enough alone, he started with "But Father, it was Drew's idea to-"  
  
Gimli poked him in the ribs and glared. AW glared back but said nothing more.  
  
Father raised an eyebrow at AW which made him slink back a few steps. Father has eyebrows to rival the legendary Eyebrow of Doom (tm) (4).  
  
"So Father," I stepped into Father's line of vision. /Shut. up. AW. I'm trying to get you out of this with your hearing intact./ "I suggested that our company could sleep in the backyard in the old tent."  
  
Father laughed. "Of course, Durere. Come gentlemen, I will make some tea," and he turned and cheerfully headed to the house, to make tea in the coffee maker.  
  
Our guests seemed rather taken aback at the abrupt mood swing and no one moved for a moment. Turning, I smiled at them and nodded, "Please, come in. He's perfectly safe." I am so used to living among mortals that I muttered under my breath, "For the moment," forgetting that Legolas would overhear me. He did, and gave me an odd look, before giving AW an even odder look. AW hadn't moved. "Just ignore him. He's fine, and if he's still there at dusk, I get to dump a bucket of water over his head." I grinned, "I like that part."  
  
The hobbit, Pippin, poked AW in the stomach to test a personal theory. AW didn't flinch. "Oy Merry, check to see if 'e still has a pulse. Wait... maybe 'e's asleep."  
  
Aragorn stopped him. "Master Peregrin..."  
  
Merry looked up at AW. "Somehow I don't see how he could sleep with that shouting, but I suppose anything is possible." Then we followed Father into the house, leaving AW as the temporary lawn ornament.   
  
Supper was uneventful: the hobbits ensured there were no leftovers for lunch the next day, Mama wouldn't let anyone smoke after their meal saying it took her forever to get the smell out of the drapes, Father and Aragorn were in a deep discussion about the exodus of the Elves and the immediate decline of culture and civilization as a result, and Gimli and Legolas were telling me about their trip up from Mexico, where they had found themselves shortly after Aragorn's coronation. Upon hearing this, a little warning bell went off in my head, but I couldn't exactly place it. That sounded important. Blar, it'll come to me at two in the morning when I don't need it.  
  
I glanced at the clock and grinned. "If you will excuse me, Mama, gentlemen," I said, standing, "I have an appointment with a bucket of water and an odd looking lawn gnome." I nearly bumped into him at the door. AW was coming in just as I was heading out, and he was already drenched. Oh, pooh.  
  
"Manwe quanta ho salpua ner nend sai n'ala ho fan ho e' a're." (5) He blurted out as Mama handed him a towel to dry off before he left the mat.  
  
Pippin blinked. "Whut?"  
  
I turned to him. "He says it's raining out."  
  
"Hard," AW added as he towelled his hair, "And that also presents us with the problem of where our guest are going to stay tonight. The sieve... I mean, green tent would not be a good idea in a downpour like this."  
  
Mama jabbed Father in the ribs. "I told you we should have had it repaired long ago."  
  
Father backed up slightly. "It was repaired long ago."  
  
"That's the problem!"  
  
I snickered inwardly. Mama was the only one that could control Father and it was good to see him blush with embarrassment once every decade or so.  
  
I shrugged. "Why not the basement?"  
  
Father's eyebrows shot up and AW ducked behind the wall, out of sight. "WHAT?! Eight men under the same roof as my Durere'?! I think not! Absolutely not!"  
  
"But Father," I interjected, seeing the worried faces of our guests, "They have no where else to stay... the three bed and breakfasts were all booked for the lawn bowling tournament this week."  
  
It looked like Father was trying to find an excuse to protect me from the eight strange men... especially the two shorter ones who were still carrying around the body of a ninth, but he couldn't think of one.  
  
"Dome Gil," Mama said in her warning voice. "Don't you dare turn these men out on a night like this! If you do.... so help me I'll-"  
  
Father sighed in defeat. "Very well, but only if there is not a peep from them after eleven and lights must be out by one at the latest. And under no circumstances is there to be a boy *ever* in Durere's room or is she to be downstairs after midnight! Is that understood? This is *my* house!" And with that he left the living room, signalling his defeat.  
  
Mama gave a knowing wink at the guests, who breathed a collective sigh of relief knowing they would remaining dry that night.  
  
So that's how it came about that eight men and a cadaver stayed in our house. ... Eight men and a cadaver... Hmm.. sounds like a bad B-movie.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Gandalf was given the guest room in deference to his age and apparent frailty, Legolas claimed the hide-a-bed and insisted that he could never share with any of his companions.  
  
"Legolas," Aragorn said hotly, "It is big enough for two to sleep there. You and I can very well share that bed."  
  
The blond elf shook his head smugly. "I will have to disagree friend. It would be impossible for me to share this berth. I sleep diagonally."  
  
Aragorn blinked. "You what?!"  
  
"I sleep diagonally," the elf insisted, "I could, therefore, not share this mattress with anyone else, and as I claimed this couch first, it is only fair that it be solely my own."  
  
The human sighed, conveying an air of long-suffering, "Very well."  
  
AW walked down the hall from the crowded rec room and pointed to a door to his right. "You could sleep in this room if you wish, Aragorn. It's our computer room and Father's office; I've slept here dozens of times when our house is over-run with relatives." Aragorn followed my brother and looked into the dark room he had indicated. He couldn't see much, but he did see how low the ceiling was.  
  
"I do not believe that I would fit in there." He said, a touch of humour in his voice.  
  
"Oh that! No, it's not all like that." He gave Aragorn an odd look. "Unless you sleep standing up..." I could see Aragorn roll his eyes as AW ducked into the room and switched on the lights. It was true that the ceiling was low at the door, but about three steps in, the ceiling was suddenly higher and one could stand up normally. There was a space on the floor large enough for a single mattress and no windows - the room was pitch back, even if it was the brightest noon-day in history.  
  
After looking around the room, Aragorn nodded approvingly. "Yes, I think I will sleep here tonight."  
  
"Great!" AW beamed. "Oh, " and he lowered his voice, "and the good thing about sleeping in here," he added, "is there isn't enough room for anyone else too." Aragorn smiled at that, pleased that he would be joining Gandalf in the status of having a private room.  
  
Finding places for all the others to find sleeping accommodations was a bit more difficult. We set up the rented pup tent in the back of the rec room beside the hallway and stuffed it with two single foam mattresses for the hobbits - they had their hearts set on camping, now that they knew there were no bears. Looking in, Pippin commented that it was better than sleeping in a tree any day. For the dwarf, we inflated an air mattress. When I say 'we inflated', I mean AW inflated it; he likes the dizzy feeling he gets afterwards. As for the... stiff, we had him laid on the blanket chest, but only after we had covered it in plastic.  
  
After sleeping arrangements were complete, Aragorn and Legolas borrowed some clothing for sleeping from AW, and the hobbits and Gimli borrowed a XL t-shirt each. The dwarf also received a pair of shorts. Gandalf refused all offers of sleepwear and we refused to think anything further on that subject. We had all changed and tried to decide what to do for the evening since we were trapped inside.   
  
Legolas was feeling slightly uncomfortable having been closed off from nature, so to make him feel better, AW brought down his spider plant that had miraculously survived longer than two weeks. It did make the guest elf feel a bit better. It did look odd, though, seeing him holding a pot of a sad looking green plant. And he kept looking longingly at the old silver and blue tree-patterned wallpaper we had yet to rip down; Mama said it reminded her of the tales of Lorien.  
  
We finally decided on a movie. I wanted Pride and Prejudice mini-series as a marathon, but being out-numbered nine men to one (Gandalf didn't vote), we watched the 1988 movie, 'Willow'; AW's choice. So for the next two hours, I had to sit through Aragorn's comments of how fake the swords looked, Merry's questions of why the Hobbits were wearing footwear, Pippins comments of seeing parallels with the Quest of the Ring, and AW's questions about why they used hockey tape to bind the baby during a black magic ceremony.  
  
If I hadn't been sitting next to the plant clutching one, it would have been unbearable.  
  
During the credits, the Hobbits decided that they'd start a pillow fight (with our giant, three foot squared pillows) and quickly got pounded by the older, taller and necessarily stronger males surrounding them. One of the pillows strayed from the owner's hands (later we found out it was Pippin's) and it struck Boromir squarely in the chest. To everyone's amazement and shock, Boromir spoke.  
  
"To blaaaaaaaaave."  
  
Everyone looked at the body, waiting to see if he would sit up and explain why exactly he had been playing possum for the last several months, but nothing happened.  
  
Suddenly, I had an epiphany. "Did you hear him?!" I said excitedly. "Did you hear what he said? He said 'true love'! True Love! The most valiant thing to live for!"   
  
Aragorn shook his head. "No, I don't think so. Boromir never did strike me as the romantic type."  
  
AW smirked. "It sounded more like 'to blave'. You know... to bluff."  
  
A look of horror then spread across Pippin's face. "'E knows I cheated at that poker from that day on the river!!"  
  
Merry turned to his companion. "It was you that was cheating? I thought he meant me!" The two of them exchanged shocked glances, then looked at the corpse, obviously relieved he was still dead.  
  
After that, we settled into a calm game of 'Full Contact Origami,' more commonly known as "Dutch Blitz." It was AW and me against the world, though team Gimli/Legolas did come close to beating us a few times. Following that was an interesting game of "Life," where Aragorn couldn't understand why we were forced to purchase pointless things like helicopters and cruises. Gimli found it amusing that his 'wife' didn't have a little beard, even after AW offered to pick up a fluff from the carpet and glue it on.  
  
While the group was giggling and guffawing about Legolas' seventh daughter and Aragorn's newly purchased yacht, Gandalf had discovered Father's hidden personal library; hidden from mortals that is. Father had concluded that the elderly gentleman would want something more fulfilling than watching the rowdy 'young people' "drive" around on a cardboard playing surface, and had, offered Gandalf the use of his library in the second basement.  
  
Back in the regular basement, the group had settled down and was just talking about random things like favourite songs, locations and favourite foods (initiated by the hobbits, of course). As Sam paused to take a breath while dictating his best recipe, it became quite obvious that the plant holding elf was getting tired of the small talk when he inquired, "So.... AW... do you like insects?"  
  
AW blinked. The question had completely taken him by surprise - not an easy feat. Me too, as a matter of fact. A detailed recipe of venison stew was leagues away from insects, topic-wise, so naturally my brother couldn't see a connection. AW blinked again. "Should I?"  
  
Legolas gave something of a smirk and continued. "Well, I could not help but notice the name your father called you when we first arrived home. I was just curious."  
  
At this, AW turned slightly purple, which is for everyone else, the equivalent of blushing.   
  
To understand AW's distress is to understand the daily torment in which he lived his life. He lived in constant fear that someone would correctly translate his name. He hated it, and I can't say that I blame him. Most people dislike their name and wish they could change it for a variety of reasons: it's too common, it's too old fashioned, it's an over-used family name, it reminds you of one third of a children's' singing group that travelled with a man in an elephant costume. And while those reasons are all valid, none are even *remotely* close to why AW loathes his name.  
  
AW had straightened in his seat and set his jaw, trying to hide the fact that he knew his secret was out and would be revealed to the others very shortly.  
  
"I like the name, *AW* ...Ascarer Wilwarin; very... unique...." Legolas was apparently enjoying this. I could see that Aragorn was snickering quietly and Frodo was studying his foot hair industriously, trying to hide a grin. Pippin and the others where ping-ponging between the blond and the blue.  
  
I felt sorry for him and stood, and being gentlemen, so did everyone. Everyone but my brother, of course. Taking advantage of the chivalry, I suggested that maybe we would like to pause for a snack. This idea was greeted with great enthusiasm, mostly by the hobbits.  
  
We had to order in pizza because the hobbits had finished off dinner and I didn't feel like making more sandwiches. After ordering eighteen pepperoni pizzas and refusing to buy one for Boromir, who still hadn't moved since his... outburst, we started the waiting game. When Legolas found out it was a thirty minute wait for the food, he suggested something else to "sit in the hobbits' stomachs" till it arrived. I made popcorn and we headed back downstairs.  
  
The instant everyone was settled and happily munching, Legolas turned his full gaze on AW again and picked up where he left off without missing a beat, "Wherever did you acquire such a unique name?" he asked politely.  
  
"Where do you think I acquired it?" AW said, rather curtly. "You think I pulled it out of my a-"  
  
"Where does anyone get a name?" I interrupted, glaring at AW, "Our parents... have a... strange sense of humour." I had a feeling that was not going to be a good enough explanation. I was right. It wasn't.  
  
"Waz 'is name mean, an'way?" Pippin asked with is mouth full of popcorn.  
  
AW paused for a moment before answering, "Valiant Warrior".  
  
Aragorn snorted. "Does not."  
  
"...Accomplished... Musician," AW tried again.  
  
Frodo grinned and replied, singsong, "I don't think so."  
  
He tried one more time half heartedly, "Glorious Poet".  
  
Legolas grinned. "Do you truly wish it to mean that? I would end my life if *my* name meant having anything to do with poetry."  
  
Pippin was getting impatient. "Whut doz it mean?"  
  
AW, feeling the pressure from three of the guests who knew what it meant, and the others who didn't, caved. He put his head in his hands and muttered loud enough for all to hear, "Impetuous Butterfly".  
  
There several beats of silence before the snickering began. The mirth was not content to remain a quiet snicker, and soon grew up to be snorts and sniggers followed by all out guffaws and roaring. Poor AW hadn't moved, and I could see the tips of his ears. They were dark purple. He was mortified. And there was nothing I could do to help.  
  
The laughing went on for quite a while. By the time the purple had reached down to cover AW's toes, and our guests were all on the floor gasping for air from laughing so hard, the door bell rang. Although AW really doesn't like Mark-Paul Gosselaar, he was completely content to be saved by the bell. He jumped off the couch and leapt up the stairs faster than he ever did at Christmas... or for supper.  
  
Slowly but surely, after AW left the room, the gasps became quieter in between the giggles. With the centre of attention absent from the basement, our guests regained their composure. A minute later, AW called down the stairs telling everyone that the pizza had arrived. At the sound of his voice, some snickers started up again. When we mounted the stairs, AW was nowhere in sight. I don't blame him for making himself scarce after what just happened.   
  
The general consensus was to eat downstairs, so the hobbits collected their three pizzas each, the rest of us each grabbed a box and headed back down. There was very little conversation as everyone dove into their 'snack', and all that could be heard was the occasional request for more juice. When the hunger pains had been satisfied, or at least reduced, Pippin looked at me and picked up the conversation where we had dropped it almost an hour before. Uncanny.  
  
"While we're on the subject of names..." Which we weren't. "Why are you called Drew? Isn't that a verb?" he asked through a mouthful of pizza.  
  
I felt my face get hot with embarrassment. We were back to the name thing? I looked down to my plate and fiddled with a crust. "It's just a nickname." I looked around and it was obvious that they wanted the back story to my name. I sighed. "When AW was small and just beginning to talk, he couldn't pronounce my given name, so he started calling me Drew. It's nothing special."  
  
Legolas smiled kindly. "And nowhere near as.... odd... as your brother's."  
  
I smiled, grateful for his effort to make me feel better. "Only because my parents renamed him after his fiftieth birthday. They felt no need to rename me."  
  
"But whut doz yours mean?"  
  
"Durere means 'Faith Alone'. Mama and Father waited a long time to start a family, and when I was finally conceived, Mama felt that it was because of her faith. When I was born, they figured that I would have to live like that too."  
  
Aragorn spoke up. "That's wonderful, Lady, but if your parents are into meaningful names, how does that explain AW's name?"  
  
I chuckled. "He can be sweet and lovable one minute and the next, you wonder why you weren't watching him closely enough because you've finally realized he just set the backyard on fire. He has given Father innumerable headaches, and if elves ever got grey hairs, Father would be grey and bald by now."  
  
At this, I heard AW's footsteps descending the basement steps. When he came into view, he was evidently avoiding any sort of eye contact with our guests. Apparently, AW had been sent down against his wishes by someone more powerful than he.  
  
"Father has deemed it bedtime," he mumbled.  
  
Merry looked at the digital clock on the VCR, which read ten-forty-three. "But didn't he say that lights out was at one? It's not even eleven yet!"  
  
When AW heard this, he gave Merry a hard look. "I don't think you heard me right the first time, so I shall say it again. *Father* has deemed it *bedtime.* Now."  
  
The way AW said this made our guests' memories to go back to their first encounter with our Father. They all agreed in unison that 10:43 was an excellent bedtime and began to line up for the basement bathroom.  
  
That was when I had to go upstairs, but AW was still allowed to remain in the rec room. I'll pass the conch to him for now. Tata.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
With Drew gone, not much had changed, other than Legolas snickering every time he glanced in my direction. He was enjoying this too much, not to mention he was the one who initiated the whole name meaning conversation in the first place. Guest or not, he was going to get payback... AW style.  
  
The lights were out and everyone was in bed, excluding Gandalf who was still down in Father's library. Aragorn was shut up in the computer room, while everyone else was sharing the large rec room. The hobbits were jostling with each other inside the tent and Gimli was trying to silence them without bringing the wrath of Father down the stairs. Pippin muttered something about his stomach not feeling quite right and thought it might have been something he had eaten. I, personally, immediately thought of the expired olives. I hoped that would teach the hobbit a lesson on food smarts, but deep down, I didn't think so. I must admit, I didn't have sympathy for him, laughing at my name and all, and with him tossing and turning like that, I doubted the hobbits would get much sleep, if any. No need to get even with them... at least, not right away.  
  
When I thought that everyone had settled down, excluding Pippin (who never settled at all), I perched myself lightly on of the back of the couch and did my best 'Snoopy being the vulture' impression. From my vantage point, I could clearly see the wretched blond elf sleeping on the hide-a-bed, eyes open, as all elves sleep. I could have jumped on him (and believe me, I wanted to see the elf's expression as a blue blur landed on him, waking him from a reverie), but it is always a good thing to remember that some elves have kept up with their warrior training and one should never leap on a elf if he's sleeping... especially if said elf could whoop your sorry duff into a lovely pretzel. But that wasn't what I was going for.   
  
Not at all.  
  
I know that mortals are awaked when their subconscious realizes someone is staring at them (trust me, I've done it millions of times at summer camp - it's too fun). For elves, it's worse.  
  
Legolas didn't completely wake up, at least, not right away, but I knew that he could tell that there was 'an evil shadow' cast over him. Elves don't normally move in their sleep, but the blond one was visibly squirming under my unblinking stare. Ever so slowly, his form curled up into the foetal position as if to make himself smaller and therefore, vanish from my sight.  
  
Fat chance of that happening.  
  
Around two o'clock, I heard a loud bang from the computer room. I knew that Aragorn had got up for some reason, most likely the bathroom, and, forgetting about the layout of the room, had smashed his face on the low ceiling. No one emerged from the room after that, so he had either knocked himself out, or decided to lie back down on his own accord because of the pain. I was hoping for the first option.  
  
Revenge number one.  
  
At about three o'clock, Legolas looked as if he was frozen in some unseen terror... from a mortal perspective: a figure in a tight foetal position, with eyes wide open and his form inanimate. I pulled the camera from its case, made sure the flash was on and aimed.  
  
I don't think I've seen an elf jump that high before.  
  
Ever.  
  
Nor did he catch me running up the stairs. I've have plenty of experience with being pursued by Drew. That and I also threw obstacles down the stairs to trip him up.   
  
Revenge number two.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
I waited a while before emerging from my room the next morning. Partly because I was enjoying the captured moment of the previous night on Polaroid, but mostly because it's wise to be certain there are plenty of witnesses present when someone wants to kill you, .  
  
When I walked into the kitchen, I was greeted by the scariest sight that no one, not even Morgoth, could imagine - Father before his morning coffee. When he is like that, he reminds me of a dragon who has just wakened to find someone walking into his cave and trying to take his treasure hoard. It is always best to tread lightly when the coffee is perking.  
  
I was quietly pouring myself some orange juice, hiding behind the refrigerator door from Father, when the four hobbits came thumping up the stairs and groggily joined Drew, already sitting at the table eating her toast and tea. Father moved his sights from the coffee perk to the newcomers. He squinted, as if looking through a fog, his blue gaze wandering back and forth, from figure to figure, like a demented lighthouse beacon. It reminded me of a blue version of the Eye of Sauron. The only difference between the two was Father could blink.  
  
He blinked.  
  
"Mani tiuy kantea hamien ie' mia sentre?" (6) He mumbled to Drew. Then quickly glanced at me. "Ascarer Wilwarin, avalatya i annon nin fridge, le innus or-iuitha i motor," (7) he added as a side note. I promptly shut the fridge.  
  
Drew knew that Father never thought clearly in the morning, so she tried to explain the situation in a way that his still sleeping brain would understand.  
  
"They are our guests, Father" Drew responded in English, for the benefit of the fat forms, "and I imagine they are looking for breakfast."  
  
Father blinked again.  
  
Drew tried again, "Their car died yesterday and you permitted them to sleep in the basement." Seeing no comprehension, Drew tried one more time, "They are friends of mine, they heard of your famous quiche and decided they must try it."  
  
At this, Father's face half lit up. "Ah yes, my quiche." His smile seemed to be drug induced. He turned to the Hobbits, "I put bacon in it."  
  
"And mushrooms," Drew prompted.  
  
He nodded benignly, "And mushrooms." For looking like the walking dead, the Hobbits cheered up considerably.  
  
While Father was distracted, the mournful groans of the coffee maker quieted down, and I immersed myself in the exact science of preparing His morning coffee. It is at this time of morning that Father can be the most fun... or the most deadly. I rejoice to say that I have learned where the line is, and when to cross it. Using all the stealth inherent in my kin, I skilfully and silently slipped a hopefully perfect cup of coffee into place, where Father's hands would come to rest naturally. If my luck held, he would find the 'Still Perfect After 2000 Years' mug (received from Drew ages ago on his Begetting Day) and not my retreating hand.  
  
Father, not consciously noticing the arrival of the mug, picked it up and took a sip. Drew and I each held our breath.  
  
Nothing happened.   
  
He didn't explode in a blinding rage. Drew and I exchanged glances; cue mental high fives and boogying.  
  
Coffee, for me it is the forbidden drink. I'm not allowed to touch the stuff... or related products. Mama said that I didn't need it. Drew agreed, the motion was passed and became law. I'm allowed to eat chocolate under protest. Ah chocolate, how I love the-  
  
*BANG!*  
  
...  
  
...What. In. Arda?!  
  
*WHUMP!*  
  
Everyone in the dinning room stopped and wondered what the sound had been and why it had come from the base...ment...  
  
...wait...  
  
I grinned. I knew what has caused the noise and as if on cue, Aragorn exploded out of the computer room, ranting in elvish about not having had a nosebleed this bad since Elladan had accidentally knocked him off the roof of Imladris while star-gazing. He had smashed his face into the low ceiling again. I suppose if he's nose wasn't bleeding, the whistle would be going full force.  
  
For those of you keeping score - Guests: 1 - AW: 3  
  
Suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. My self-preservation alarms were screaming at me. Out of learned instincts, I stepped back into Mama's umbrella tree and blended in perfectly. (It takes years to master this technique, especially difficult when one's skin is cobalt blue. I can also hide myself with twenty-two different plant types - if you care.)  
  
I have learned to blend first, look for danger after.  
  
When I saw it, I wished I didn't.  
  
The coffee that had been in Father's cup only a minute before was now staining his housecoat and uncomfortably warming his exterior instead of his interior. Not to mention the invisible steam pouring out of his ears.  
  
The first thing out of Father's mouth was as auto pilot as my reaction.  
  
"ASCARER WILWARIN!!!" Naturally, I didn't reply, nor did I have to.  
  
"It wasn't him, Father," Drew said quietly.   
  
Father shot her a look. "And what makes it someone else this time?"  
  
"Because, Father," she continued calmly, "He is right there, whereas the sound came from downstairs." She promptly pointed at me, hiding in the umbrella tree. Drew taught me how to blend with my surroundings so she can always find me. ... Come to think of it, Hide-and-Seek never was much fun with her. I think I should tell you now, this 'hiding-in-plant-life' technique only works when no one looks directly at me, and Drew told me later that I looked like a deer caught in the headlights when Father looked.  
  
Aragorn didn't come upstairs right away, but there was some loud shouting, and from the sounds of it, solely at Legolas.  
  
"What do you think you're doing, you blasted elf?!"  
  
Quiet response.  
  
"Then why did you fire it in the first place, if you knew it was me!?!?"  
  
Response.  
  
"I AM NOT SLOW!"  
  
We didn't find out about the other half of the conversation until a few minutes later when both man and elf came up the stairs and joined us for breakfast, which Mama was still cooking. As soon as Legolas rounded the corner and spotted me, he shot me an 'I'm going to kill you in your sleep... slowly and painfully until you wake up and then I'll kill you some more' look, which I returned with a satisfied smile. Aragorn, on the other hand, was greeted by a very.... peeved Father.   
  
The poor man looked from Drew to me, apparently for help. I grinned at him. He glanced back at Drew, who was sympathetic, but unwilling to step into the path of the storm. He swallowed visibly and nodded to Father. "Good morning, sir," he said, managing to sound mostly calm, "I see it's still raining.." He trailed off awkwardly. Father had not moved one iota and was very close to poaching the eggs with the steam rising from his head.  
  
From what I had seen of Aragorn the previous day, it seemed to me that he had met his match and then some. Father was past the point of explaining his wrath and was just smouldering silently. Well practiced in keeping her 'angelic image', Drew spoke up. "You made him spill his coffee," she said helpfully.  
  
With this new information, Aragorn glanced down at Father's housecoat to assess the damage and apologized profusely. "I will get you a new cup, sir."  
  
I shook my head. "You're all ready on a sinking ship, Aragorn, I'll get it. Besides," I said walking to the coffee maker for the second time, "you would be sealing your fate if you got it wrong."  
  
I would have got a glare from the dark one, if it weren't for the fact that he was already under a very intense glare. He quietly sat down at the end of the table and tried to blend in with the table cloth. I would like to take this moment and say that I hide better than he does. Not that I'm bragging, or anything- oh, who am I kidding, of course I am! Go me!  
  
After Father got his second cup of coffee, and everyone had sat down at the table, including the dwarf and Gandalf (Boromir was content to remain forgotten downstairs), we started to devour the very large breakfast of eggs, bacon, ham, toast, cheese, waffles (with Drew's homemade maple syrup) and four types of jam.   
  
Boromir... I knew I had asked about him already, but it's one of those things where questions still poke you in the brain and demand to be answered. Why in Arda were they dragging around a corpse with them? It was simply unheard of. I knew asking at the breakfast table was a huge faux pas, but I just had to. Thankfully, I was sitting beside Aragorn and I could keep the conversation quiet.  
  
"Uh Aragorn," I tried to phrase the question carefully, "could I ask you a question?"  
  
He looked up from his eggs and bacon with a 'what do you want?' look in his eye.  
  
Ignoring his manner, I smiled and continued. "I asked Merry yesterday about... Boromir, why he's joined you on your journey... without his knowledge and Merry said that it was your idea."  
  
At this, Aragorn let out a little laugh and shook his head. He finished chewing what was in his mouth before he proceeded. "When I said that I thought it would be a good idea for everyone to have one last trip together, I meant the *living* members of the Fellowship. I thought that the Hobbits would understand, but they ended up taking swimming lessons for several months to fish Boromir from the bottom of the falls at Rauros. When that didn't work, they just found an open plot hole and pulled him through it-"  
  
But by this time, I had stopped listening. Something he had said made me pause. '...Did he said *Fellowship*? He did, didn't he?' I glanced around the table, counting off the heads. Four Hobbits with the correct names, a dwarf and elf to represent their kind, an old man who was most likely an Istari, a 'man who would be king' and the death of one of their own.  
  
Ai Valar!  
  
Aragorn hadn't noticed that I had stopped listening to him. "-but I know something has to be done about Boromir. He is bound to start smelling very badly and very soon at tha-"  
  
"Fellowship?!" I interrupted. "Did you say you were the Fellowship? As in 'The Quest of the Ring' 'Fellowship'?" This caused my family to stop eating. The Hobbits continued, of course.  
  
Aragorn blinked at my question, but nodded slowly. "Yes, we just complete that quest..." Then he stopped. "How do you know of it?"  
  
I turned to look at Drew. She had gone pale, and was staring back at me wide eyed. Through some form of freaky... mix-up... thing, Drew and I had brought the entire Fellowship home with us. And it had taken eighteen hours for us to figure this out. I looked at Father and for the first time in my life, he was pale and staring at Aragorn.  
  
He had just intimidated the Legendary King of Gondor.  
  
I promised myself that I would never be surprised at anything ever again. You know... It's amazing how easy it is to break promises. I expected I would break it, truth be told.... I just .. didn't think I'd break it so soon. Oy.  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
1. Brêg Morn'lim = Fierce Black Fish  
  
2. Bara Coll'lim = Fiery Golden Red Fish  
  
3. H-ten'huan = "D for Dog" (Yes, we're creative when we name our pets. Shut up.)  
  
4. Eye Brows of Doom: Property of Elrond Half-Elven  
  
5. "Manwe filled his bathtub too full before he got in today."   
  
6. "What fat forms are sitting at my table?"  
  
7. "AW, shut the door to the fridge, you will burn out the motor."  
  
Author's notes, part two:   
  
a) Alright, we know the Elvish we're using is not Sindarin. We are well aware of the fact that we are using Grey Elvish. We figured that, since we're doing a parody of Tolkien fanfics, we can get away with using a parody of his languages. Please don't kill us.  
  
b) And.. well, okay... we kinda lied about the 'no Aragorns were harmed' bit, but he'll recover.... we hope.  
  
c) Ok, either I'm an idiot, or ff.net's formatting machine hates my computer. Either way, none of my formatting came through. For the record, **'s mean emphasis, and / /'s mean italics. Ok, sorry to slow you down. 


End file.
